


Best I Ever Had

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: "Never Had" if you're curious, Also unsure until he makes up his mind then hoo buddy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Awkward First Times, Bartender Finn (Star Wars), Cuties, Dorks in Love, Finn's well-read, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Gossip, Insecure Poe Dameron, Insecurity, Inspired by Music, M/M, Maybe ooc? Who knows anymore, Misunderstandings, POV Alternating, Pilot Poe Dameron, Silly, Sleeping Together, Soft Praise, Supportive Finn (Star Wars), Tenderness, light banter, they're both so stupid for each other ugh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:27:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29390529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: From prompt:Poe has a reputation as a suave and sexy pilot with a lover in every port, but he really isn’t. In fact, he hasn’t had sex in years and is constantly surprised by the gossip about him. Finn hears some of the stories and is intrigued. The misunderstanding hopefully results in porn with feels (spoilers: it does).
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Finnpoe, Poe Dameron/Finn, Stormpilot - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 74





	Best I Ever Had

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgrippaSpoleto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgrippaSpoleto/gifts).



> thanks very much to TheCarrot for giving this a read-over!  
> agrippa, hope you like it babe, thanks for helping me out of a funk <3
> 
> Just Full disclosure: this probably isn’t poe you’re used to? He’s a mess with relationships man 😂

Two pilots walk into a bar…

There’s supposed to be a punchline but he couldn’t remember it to save his life. Because two pilots just walked into his bar and Rey is whisper-shouting, “Oh my god, it’s your guy!”

Finn jostles the barback away with an elbow. “Are you serious?! We’re supposed to be professionals here. He’s not my guy.” She rolls her eyes. “Go check the keg or something, stop staring.”

Rey blows a raspberry at him, waves wide and welcoming, and his eyes sink shut in embarrassment. He knows these guys. They’ve been to his bar a million times, usually dressed out in civilian clothes so as not to get in trouble. One of the pilots—Jessika, that Rey always flirts with—giggles at them. The other just tips his ballcap back, nonplussed. Which makes some curls fall free and Finn’s mouth go dry.

Owning a bar by an airport is good for exactly two things: drunk pilots and drunk pilot gossip. Ok, maybe a third would be their excellent tips but really it’s the first two that make the job worth doing. Most of them seem to be friends, or at least friendly with each other; they always have stories to tell. Sometimes absolutely filthy stories if the hour gets late and the liquor really gets going. And none are more storied than the man sliding onto a barstool right in front of him.

According to the other pilots in his bar, Poe Dameron is well-traveled. Wait, maybe that’s not right. They fly, they’re all well-traveled. Experienced might be a better word. That is to say, Poe Dameron’s dick is experienced. Finn's no slouch in the sack—no one's complained, at least a few have asked for more—but Poe is something else. All the other pilots have a story or three about his prowess in bed. Like the last time he was in France, apparently the hotel neighbors came knocking at the noise, someone on the street cheered? Or out of bed even. He hasn’t forgotten the story about the barista and the kitchen in Brazil. To be honest, Finn doesn’t believe them half the time. Which would be well and good if Finn didn’t have such an…interest in trying out those skills himself. Rey loves the gossip, always encourages it—half to laugh and half to watch Finn squirm. There’s one story that sticks in his head in particular, about a couple and a beach in Malaysia that makes him wonder if those hands are really as dextrous as they say. Especially when Poe runs fingers through his hair like _that._

Ho boy.

“Hey Poe, good flight?” Finn’s trying so hard for nonchalance, like he wasn’t just thinking about the man’s sexpeditions.

“Rough,” Poe sighs. “Bad weather everywhere, couple kids sick on deck.” He nudges Jess next to him. “ _You_ weren’t any help.”

Oh god, the man’s good with kids. Finn glances at the ceiling, hoping his composure just floated off up there somewhere and he can snatch it back. So he smiles at them as he turns his attention to the bar. Poe needs a drink and he knows just what to make.

“Hey, they pay me to fly, not to comfort crying babies,” she protests. “Lesbians don’t know what to do with babies.”

“You’re so full of shit! That isn’t an excuse and you know it.”

Jessika turns on her barstool back to Rey with a smirk. “I’m gonna use it ’til the day I die.”

Poe rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t doubt it. Ass.” He sighs again, rubs at his eyes as Finn slides him a glass. When he opens them, it’s with a soft kind of wonder that makes Finn’s stomach clench. “Hey, thanks…”

“No problem.”

Except it **_is_** a problem. Poe’s been coming to the bar long enough Finn knows his favorite drink. Paloma, with a splash of pineapple juice. He also knows that Poe lives somewhere in town, an apartment. That he’s always wanted a cat but doesn’t feel good about getting one because of how often he’s gone. He also knows that Poe loves flying more than anything in the world, even after days like today. Finn knows just enough about Poe _without_ the sex to be interested. But he can’t say for sure if Poe’s interested in him too, which is a bit of an ego pop. He tries not to muse on it any further. The rest of the crew is filtering in, some passengers too. Time to actually do work. There’s plenty to keep him busy but…

Always but. He always manages to float back, when everyone’s taken care of. Leans across the bar into Poe’s space, listens to him tell his own stories in drink-rough sotto voce. He’s probably imagining it, but Finn likes to think those stories are just for him. Poe leans right up to him, smile soft and tired around the edges. Looking like the best he’s never had. So he’s happy to let Poe mumble on until someone flags for another glass. At some point, the pilot shuffles off his stool for the bathroom. And immediately, his copilot drops right in.

"So, you wanna hear the latest?" Jess asks with a filthy grin. "I got a great story about airplane bathrooms and flying solo."

Finn rolls his eyes. "Can I say no?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to let you know you're missing out here."

"What?! Come on—" Finn sputters. "I'm not missing out."

"Nah, no good." Jess downs her drink. "Rey says you won't shut up about him."

Finn shoots a glare down the bar where Rey is pretending not to eavesdrop. "I didn't know that was something to share."

Jess just shrugs, glancing back toward the bathroom. "So? I see the way you watch him anyway." She eyes him and he feels very much like a bug in a jar. "She didn’t have to say anything."

"Great. Perfect." Finn mixes another drink for no one in particular. "You made your point, I'm transparent. Please don't tell me anymore bullshit. The last time you spouted off I dropped three drinks."

The pilot snatches the glass from his hand as his ear catches on Rey's snort down the way. "So why don't you make a move?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure if Poe wanted something he would've asked by now. He asked everyone else you told me about, didn’t he?”

Jess squints at him and goes to retort but the bathroom door creaks open and Poe's heading back their way. Whatever it was she would say next is gone. Though Finn doesn't miss the way she puts her head together with Dameron when he’s filling orders.

But does he take her words to heart? Maybe. Maybe they bang around in his head as he finishes up the night. He could ask. What would be the harm in it? Eventually, closing time hits and only Jess and Poe are left at the bar. Dishes rattle in the sink as he asks, “You have another shift after this one?”

It’s an innocent enough question, just to keep the conversation going. There isn’t any machination to it. Poe glances up at him, swirling the ice in his glass.

“Not tonight. Not another for a few days, actually.”

“They grounded him so he would actually sleep,” Jess cuts in.

Poe rolls his eyes. “I sleep enough.”

“You don’t,” Finn chuckles. “I don’t think you know how to sleep a whole night.” Poe chooses not to address that, instead sipping at his drink. More awkwardly that he’d like, follows, “Staying in town then? Any plans?”

_Now_ there’s reason to his asking. A couple days grounded, Finn himself has a day off—1 plus 1 could equal 2, right? Finn pointedly ignores the girls’ tandem smirks and even dodges Poe’s curious gaze. It’s not illegal to ask, is it?

“Nah, no plans. Except sleeping in.” Poe ducks his head to meet Finn’s eyes. “You?”

Ok, _that_ feels pointed. The pilot holds his eyes. Hopeful? Tosses back the rest of his drink. Finn’s jaw comes a bit loose watching him swallow and it doesn’t get working again until Poe cocks an eyebrow. The girls start tittering to his right.

“Um, no. Ha—no. No plans.”

Poe’s eyes warm a few degrees. Or maybe he’s imagining it. Is he imagining it? Finn wipes down a few glasses so he doesn’t lose his mind thinking about it. But then Jess and Rey slip away and it’s just them. Poe pushes his empty glass forward and their fingers brush and he loses it anyway.

“Would you—” “Do you wanna—”

They laugh, awkward, and a little knot of tension in Finn's chest eases. He tosses his chin and cocks an eyebrow and Poe blows out a hard breath.

“I—do you wanna get dinner?” Poe licks his lip. “Tonight. With me?”

Finn’s stomach flips but he pointedly glances up at the clock. “Bit late for dinner, isn’t it?”

And it is. Christ, it’s almost midnight.

“I’m a pretty good cook,” Poe shrugs, looking a little pink in the dim light.

Is—is he blushing? Booze blush, isn’t it? Wait. Nope; he only had the one drink. Finn gulps.

“Look, I get if you don’t wanna—”

“No!” Finn clears his throat, trying not to wither into himself. _Get it together_. “I like food.”

“So's that mean you'd like food with me?”

Poe looks so unsure of himself, which is not what Finn expected at _all_ , and it’s just so endearing he can’t help the bright grin creeping across his face.

“Let me get my coat.”

* * *

Poe's hands almost shake as he unlocks his apartment. The whole drive his nerves had been totally level. Now? What was he even thinking? God, how long has it been since anyone else actually came in? Had he even cleaned? He can't remember. Simultaneously too tired and wired for his brain to work at full capacity. Poe doesn't count himself among the most fastidious—chances are good it's a mess. Will Finn even care? He furtively glances and gets a gentle smile for his trouble, caught. It tingles right to his core, threatens to blossom into something more.

Dinner.

It's just food. Cook, maybe ask for another date later? He pushes the door open. Gestures for Finn to head in first only to get stalled at the entry watching the way the bartender's jacket slides off his broad shoulders.

_Good thing you brought dinner with you,_ his brain helpfully supplies.

Finn looks back, eyebrow raised, smile taking a playful edge. Christ, if he wasn't pulling the door shut Poe'd smack himself. Maybe he can blame the stupor on the juxtaposition of Finn's black clothes and yellow bomber.Something about the black on black, the silver chain, sleek jacket. He always looks good but _damn_ if he doesn't look _real_ good tonight. Ok, fine. Maybe he's been wanting to invite Finn for a night—or two or forever—for months. Well, now he’s here and Poe’s hands are on backwards; he just can’t get the door locked back until Finn actually looks away and around his place. At least he manages to hang his coat and hat and kick off his boots, jesus.

“Uh, make yourself at home,” Poe mumbles. “I’ll go dig around in the fridge.”

The bartender gives him a look that could almost be called coy. “Bathroom?”

“Just down the hall, second door on the right.”

Half of him wants to dash after Finn as he saunters away and clean the bathroom first. The other half just gets caught up watching his ass. Poe groans softly to himself. _Get it together, man_.

Food. Supposed to be looking for food.

Poe wrenches open the fridge and his stomach immediately drops. No meat thawed. Bottom drawer? Not even any sandwich meat. Eggs, maybe, if they’ve not gone bad. Jesus. What about cabinets? Dry pasta, rice. Beans. Bread. Essentials, sure, but what’s he gonna do, serve white rice in mustard? No fuckin’ way. Did this have to be the _only_ time the pantry’s basically empty? Mentally, Poe files back through his calendar. Shit, when was the last time _he_ was home and went shopping? Can’t really remember. Over a week probably. But he promised dinner so...

Egg sandwiches it is.

Poe puts on some music to fill the quiet; soft, familiar guitar. Finn comes out after a bit but doesn’t immediately come to the counter. Instead, he wanders around the apartment, black shirt comfortably untucked now. But his hands are shoved in his pockets. Nervous? Poe flips an egg and secretly hopes so. Maybe just a bit, so he’s not the only one bubbling inside. It’s not hard to tell Finn’s moods most days—not much of a poker face. More of a heart-on-the-sleeve kind of guy. Earnest. Sweet. Everything Poe’s been looking for. His hand freezes, mayo poised halfway over the bread. But maybe that’s just the work veneer? He’s abruptly aware that, for all Finn knows of him, Poe doesn’t know much on the other side. Are they flying the same plane here?

“You got a nice place.”

Finn’s soft voice pulls him out of his thoughts and Poe pastes on a grin, plating and sliding a sandwich across the tile.

“Thanks. Kitchen’s more lackluster than I remember it being.” Poe rubs the back of his neck. "Drink?"

"Water's fine. God knows I could use it."

Poe busies himself getting glasses otherwise he'd get lost in the way Finn's eyes look in the dim light. “You’re not allergic to eggs, are you?”

The bartender grins as he takes a big bite to answer, eyes lighting bright when he actually chews. “ _Ohh_ , you _are_ a good cook!”

“Flatterer.”

“Ain’t flattery if it’s true,” Finn muses, an arch tilt to his jaw.

“Pretty bare bones. Sorry I didn't have anything better, this was all kind of..."

"Spur of the moment?"

"That seems like a nice way to say it, but yeah."

Finn hums and Poe focuses on his own sandwich, eating in companionable quiet, music soft in the background. There's something a bit calculating in the way Finn watches him, like he's balancing thoughts on a scale. It's noticeable enough that the pilot gets dragged back into his head by screaming questions. When was the last time Poe himself got laid? Will he even know what to do anymore? What's Finn expecting? Damn friends and all their tall tales—he knows the bartender's probably heard some salacious, fallacious stories on his fellatio skills. Finn's expectations are probably so, so high. _God_ , why even invite him back just to be disappointed? The bartender finishes his meal quick enough, even rounds the bar to drop the plate in the sink—what a guest.

"You know," Finn murmurs between sips of his drink, "I like that about you."

It catches Poe so off-guard that an astounded, "What?" manages to tumble out his brain and past the bread in his mouth.

The glass clinks on the tile as Finn sets it down and comes a little closer. "Don't get me wrong, you seem like a man with a plan, and I like a good plan. But I like the spur of the moment thing too. I imagine you're pretty flexible."

Poe swallows hard as Finn's eyes drop to his lips. The word _flexible_ shouldn't sound as dirty as it does coming out of that mouth. Poe licks his lip, doesn't miss the way Finn's dark eyes track the swipe of his tongue and unconsciously mimic the motion.

"Well, I try." God, _what?_ What was that. "Best way to get the job done is be ready for trouble."

Finn laughs, quiet and deep and it trembles in Poe’s stomach. ”You get into a lot of trouble?"

"Not on purpose. Try not to do anything stupid these days. Ask me about the old days though...different story.”

Now, why would he even say that?

”What qualifies as something stupid?"

Finn’s eyes slide half closed and he tilts his head. Coy, again. Maybe. God, Poe wouldn’t know how to read him if he were a map. What a question. He glances up at the ceiling then back at Finn. He’s so close, Poe would have to lean in just a bit and he could kiss him. When did he get so close?

… ** _could_** he kiss him?

The bartender looks so open, so inviting. Leaned forward himself enough that maybe—

Ah, fuck it. Poe dips in close, brushes his lips against Finn’s in a slow, simple slide. Nothing fancy, still somehow searing. It tingles from Poe’s ears to his toes; he could swear he feels goosebumps. And it can’t last more than a few seconds but it might be the best kiss he’s had in—well, in years. So when he pulls away, he can’t help sound breathless, asking,

"That?" Poe bites his lip, dares to look for an answer on Finn’s face. “Maybe?”

“Oh, thank god,” is all Finn says before he dives in for another kiss.

Poe’s hands act of their own accord. Finn kisses him deep, fingers digging into Poe’s hips, and it’s all Poe can do to keep his head. He steps, pushing flush against the bartender’s sturdy chest. Laying him almost all the way back against the counter, chasing Finn’s lips as far as he can. Finn throws a leg around his hip. Kisses up the line of his jaw. Bites his ear and mumbles,

"Are you gonna take me to bed or are we doing this on the counter?"

Poe freezes. Not for lack of heat—Finn’s all but burning around him. But bed? Poe chances a glance at him. Some insecurity must be showing through because the bartender strokes his back, reassuring.

"Which I'm fine with.” Finn kisses at his jaw. “What do you think?”

_Yes, yes yes yes,_ is what he wants to say. But what if he fucks it up? Damn, he wants Finn too bad to give in to his fear and say no. So, “Let’s go.”

He kisses Finn breathless, almost senseless, trying to repay the favor until he drags him off the counter. Seems though, once Finn gets a taste, it’s hard for him to give it up. Poe stumbles back to the bedroom. Stopped every few steps by Finn’s hands under his clothes or mouth on his neck or anything.

“Christ, you’re gonna eat me alive.” Poe’s eyes cross just a bit and fall closed when Finn’s tongue does a _thing_ around his.

“You should’ve fed me more,” he teases.

Poe’s back hits the bedroom door and he snorts. “I will, I will next time, I promise.”

Finn’s grin is a mile wide. “I get a next time? We haven’t had any fun yet.”

Poe softens, one hand on the doorknob, the other around Finn’s waist. “I’m pretty sure I’d give you as many times as you want.”

“ _Ohh._ ” Finn groans, burying his face in Poe’s neck. “So you’re a romantic too,” he accuses. “Smooth talker.” Poe snickers. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

Poe’s hand tightens on his waist. “I guess we’re gonna find out,” he says, and pulls Finn inside.

He’s not sure who’s more eager: Finn, or himself. And truth be told, the eagerness does wonders for his confidence. Maybe it’s been years but he can do this, right? Right. He can. Finn’s into it, obviously. This is supposed to be fun, and the less he’s in his own head the better! A belt hits the floor, someone’s shirt tangles on a lamp. Poe backs him up right to the bed. With a breathless laugh, he kisses from Finn’s throat to his chest. Unzips his pants, falls easy to his knees.

“C’mon,” he urges softly, “wanna see you. Bet you’re as good out of your clothes as in.”

Finn groans over the music, threads his fingers through Poe’s hair in a way that makes him shiver. All sorts of promise there. “Do you know the way you look?” Poe smirks. Finn tweaks his hair and he gasps. “You do, don’t you?”

“Definitely don’t look as good as you.”

He eases Finn’s pants down a few inches, enough to voice the question his eyebrow is asking. The way Finn’s hands leave his hair gives him answer enough. He helps shuck the trousers, mouth watering at Finn’s cock hardening against his thigh. Poe kisses the top of his leg. Closer to the inside, a tease. When Finn groans, he looks up with his best bedroom eyes. The bartender’s lips part, everything’s going his way to make a good first impression—until Finn pulls him up. His hands find Poe’s hips and pull him flush— _hello_ —but Poe gives him a little shove just for the satisfaction of watching him bounce on the bed. Suddenly, Finn’s laid out, looking absolutely,

“Gorgeous.”

And Poe doesn’t know what to do next. Finn grins, ducks his head at the praise but suddenly the anxiety’s back. God, how can this gorgeous man even take him seriously? He’s faking it well so far, can he keep it up? Poe thumbs his jeans open nervously, tries to shove them down and off as quick as he can but—

“Shit!”

A hiss and a yelp and abruptly he’s falling face-first into bed. Ankle trapped, he stumbles right onto one of Finn’s legs. Definitely scraping the bartender’s stomach trying to get a landing, almost smashing him flat besides. Christ, he doesn’t dare look up. He just keeps his arms planted on either side of Finn’s hips, legs still tangled in his pants, staring at the mattress. And for a split second he thinks, _Yup, this is when he leaves_. Except there’s a low chuckle over the music and Finn’s hands rub at his shoulders.

“You this nervous with all your dates?”

“Uh—” Poe chokes a bit, not sure how to answer.

Finn’s hands stop. “You ok?”

“Yeah.” God, his voice sounds tight even to his own ear.

Finn sits up, pushing Poe back and onto his knees. Honestly, Poe would probably take advantage of the view if he weren’t burning with embarrassment. As it is, he can’t even meet the bartender’s eye. Instead just looks off at some corner of the room.

“Hey.” Finn’s gentle voice pulls him out of his head back to the present. “It’s all right. Come on.” His hands rest on Poe’s hips and push, guiding him to sit on one solid thigh. “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” he says again.

“What’s wrong?”

Nothing comes out of his mouth, it’s like his jaw’s been cemented shut.

“…you want me to go?”

“No!” Ah, there it is. “I really, _really_ don’t.”

“What’s up, then?” He doesn’t even realize he’s crossed his arms in front of himself until Finn’s pulling them apart. “Come on, you can tell me.”

Does he feel more grounded when Finn guides his hands over his shoulders? Yes. Grounded enough to talk? “Look—I don't want you to get the wrong idea.” He sighs. Guess so. “I uh, hah—I haven't done this for a while."

Finn frowns, which immediately says yes, his crew _did_ tell Finn their stupid tall tales.

"I don't know what you've heard, I told them to stop sayin' shit. I think they're just tryin' to embarrass me. Or who knows what they're thinking." He's rambling, he knows he is, but it's easier than watching Finn stare at him. "Bunch of asshats, as much as I love 'em, they just can't keep their mouths shut for ten minutes. I'm sorry if, if I wasn't what you were expecting. I'm not—I don’t—"

He goes to extricate himself, embarrassed enough already, but Finn's hands tighten around his waist.

"Hey, it's ok." Finn's voice is so soft that Poe doesn't resist when the bartender's fingers tilt his chin down so their eyes meet. "I'm actually kind of glad to hear it."

"Really?"

"Yeah, man!" Finn huffs a laugh, pushes a few curls out of Poe's face. "I mean I didn't really believe them much but if I'd known they were totally full of it, I'd have asked you out ages ago.”

Poe’s jaw flat falls open, he looks away. Ages ago? Well, fuck—

“You still want to keep going?”

Suddenly, Finn’s hand is back on his jaw, pulling him down and in and Poe is just so lost until Finn kisses him again. Solid and reassuring.

Poe sucks in a sharp breath. “Absolutely.”

From there, it’s easy.

With Finn’s attention on him, it’s a simple thing to fall right back in. Deft hands pull his jeans the rest of the way off. Finn falls back, wraps his arms around Poe and pulls him with. Braced above, Poe should have the upper hand here, but the way Finn’s kissing down his throat is turning his brain to mush. A quick twist, Finn pushes him up and back into the bed, positions flipped.

“Why don’t you just let me make you feel good, sweetheart?” Finn mumbles into his skin. He fits a knee between Poe’s thighs, spreads them wide. Worries a mark in Poe’s chest that steals his breath. “I wanna make you feel good.”

“That’s what I wanted to do for you, though.”

“Trust me, if you like it, I’ll like it. Just let me do it. You do want me to, don’t you?”

Poe wants to protest—agree—something—but all he can do is groan. At the pressure of Finn’s thigh, the drag of their cocks together, the heat of his mouth. Then Finn kisses further down his chest. Down his side, right over a sensitive spot that makes him squirm.

“Uh oh.” Poe hears the grin in Finn’s voice and tenses. “You’re ticklish.”

“No.” A patent lie. “Nope, no way.”

Finn looks up at him, up the line of his body with the biggest shit-eating grin. “Thou dost protest too much.”

Oh no, he’s smart too.

“Shakespeare isn’t bedroom material.”

“Are you kidding me?” Finn mouths back to the center of Poe’s stomach, up over his solar plexus in a totally disarming way. “Shakespeare was nothing but a dick joke waiting to happen.”

Of course he’s smart.

“That mean you’re gonna make jokes about my dick? I don’t know if I can take it,” he says, only half-joking.

“Nope,” Finn replies, popping a wet kiss on Poe’s ribs through the ‘p’. “Your dick’s too nice to make fun of.”

And before Poe can retort, Finn darts back in, frantically kissing his sides over and over, holding his hips in place as Poe thrashes and shrieks.

“Stop it! That’s not—Aah! Finn! That’s not making me feel good!”

He pants, laughs. Shoves ineffectually at the bartender’s shoulders, earning one tight hand then two as Finn kisses back up his body and pins his wrists to the bed. Something must give him away. Maybe the size of his eyes or the way his heart jumps—maybe Finn can feel it with the way their chests press together. But whatever it is, it melts the silliness into something more sensual.

“You give up?” Finn murmurs, brushing their noses together.

“I didn’t know we were competing.” Another lie, but it’s kind of fun to see what Finn will do next.

Apparently, it’s call him on his bluff. “Yes, you do.” He bites Poe’s lip in reprimand, just a bit. “I get to make you feel good?”

Poe takes a deep breath and lets it out nice and slow, enjoying the way Finn’s weight pushes him further into the bed. Even so, he says, “Let’s just…keep it simple, yeah? Save a big show for round two?”

It’s as close as he’ll let himself get to admitting how anxious he still is. But Finn smiles anyway, like a kid in a candy shop.

“Sounds good to me.”

He leans in again, nice and slow. Lets Poe’s wrists go so he can touch again. There’s so _much_ , he almost doesn’t know where to start. Then Finn’s nose bumps against his cheek, their lips slide together in that same searing way as before, and Poe’s hands find where they want to be. He can touch, Finn would like that. So he does. His hands run up Finn’s arms. Over his shoulders and around his neck, appreciating the strength he feels there. Kisses him for who knows how long, a covetous ache slowly but surely building. Hips jerk in tiny motions, just enough to send sparks through him and out his throat. Finn breathes easy through his nose. Steals all Poe’s noises and gasps. Slides his tongue in again and again, fucking his mouth with a confident ease that makes Poe’s hands stutter in their path. And when Finn gives an experimental roll of his hips, Poe’s everything shudders to a stop.

“ _Oh_.”

Finn kisses through a grin and does it again.

“Ohhh, _Finn_.”

The angle’s just right, Finn’s cock is hard and full and hot and dragging against his in the _best_ way.

“Lube?”

Poe all but flails to the bedside table. Digs out a small bottle, not even sure where he drops it before kissing Finn again, lips slick and swollen.

“Condom?”

Could. But, “Clean. You?”

“‘m set,” Finn mouths against his neck.

He hears the telltale click of the top and shivers. He’s not really sure what the bartender has planned, all he knows is he wants those hips back ASAP. Thankfully, Finn gives him exactly what he wants. After a moment or two, a hand circles around his cock, warm and slick. Not moving, not doing anything yet. Just there. Until he squeezes slightly. Gives a few slow pulls that have Poe curling into him. Then he slicks his own dick almost business-like and guides one of Poe’s hands down with his. The angle on his wrist is weird but _oh_ — A low gasp escapes his throat, echoed through Finn’s teeth as their fingers close.

Oh god, the pressure’s one thing. The heat though, their fingers threaded together, the weight of Finn against him—all that alone is almost enough to drive him out of his mind. Then Finn murmurs in his ear, “Don’t let go,” and rolls his hips nice and slow.

“Finn, _god_.”

His free hand scrabbles around Finn’s neck. Eyes squeeze shut. He wraps a leg behind Finn’s knee and the bartender thrusts, harder this time.

“Good?”

“So good,” Poe groans, “as long as you don’t stop.”

He opens his eyes just enough to catch the knowing grin before Finn really throws his back into it. And _that_ makes Poe’s eyes fly wide. It’s an even pace, alternating between teasing and punishingly hard.What that would feel like if Finn fucked him for real. Poe clings to that—surely he can have that later.

“Knew you’d look good,” Finn pants down his neck. “Not this good though, goddamn, look at you.”

Oh, he, “Thought about me?”

“Least once a week.” Finn slows enough to kiss him deep, holds him taut in his hands. “Sometimes twice.”

Finn doesn’t give him time enough to get his wits around that. Just picks back up to that forceful pace. Leaving Poe gasping to catch up. He moans, way louder than he means to. There’s a retort in there somewhere—not exactly sure where. But he feels Finn’s grin, the answering groan against his skin.

“Finn, I—”

“’s ok, you can.”

Lord, he didn’t even have to ask. Too far gone and Finn still knows. He tightens his grip, Finn follows suit. Fingers slick and sticky and tight—god, Poe gives himself all the way over. Eyes closed again, mouth undecided. Halfway between shoving his tongue in Finn’s mouth and letting go all the noise Finn’s fucking out of him. Christ, he doesn’t even hear the music anymore. Just Finn’s heavy breath, soft encouragement silky in his ear. His heart pounding and tension—building, spreading, flicking like a switch from want to need, bursting electric under his skin until he’s so high he doesn’t know which way is down. He hears himself shout from somewhere very far away, feels Finn’s arm under his back, pulling them close and shaking together. Then he’s drifting on the come down. The bartender heavy half over him, sprawled and panting by his side as aftershocks tingle down his spine and thighs and knees.

For a long, long moment, he’s dumbstruck. Words stutter and die in his throat as half-choked laughs, gasps. A tickle on his side, Finn’s fingers start playing in cirlces, finally get his landing gear back on the ground.

“Hold on,” Finn murmurs, kissing his shoulder before sliding out of bed and out the door.

A little shard of insecurity, cold as ice, lodges somewhere behind his heart. But he firmly shuts his eyes and ignores it, determined to bask in a warm, syrupy feeling he hasn’t had in ages. Solo just doesn’t cut the same way and it’s not until Finn’s weight dips the bed that he finally pulls himself out of it.

“You might be perfect,” Poe mumbles with eyes closed as Finn wipes them clean.

He means it, and he’s rewarded with a low chuckle, an almost bashful tone.

“You better pass judgement later.” Poe makes a noise of protest but Finn tsks. “After a good night’s sleep and you can feel everything again.”

Poe cracks an eye. Finn’s smile is soft but there’s a hesitant pinch to his brow. Loosely, not enough to trap, he wraps fingers around Finn’s arm. Gently strokes the tender skin beneath his wrist. “How ‘bout I tell you over breakfast?”

It’s a bit of a leap, but a chance Poe feels brave enough to take. 

Finn’s dark eyes go wide with surprise, lips ticking higher in a pleased grin. “You mean stay?”

Poe nods, not quite trusting his voice to stay steady. To say, _Yes, stay_.

“Well, you know what they say—” Finn pulls the covers down and slides in beside him, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. “‘—day’s sweetest moments are at dawn.’ Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

Poe snorts softly but settles in, more content than he’d ever say to have Finn spread warm and long over his chest. Filling a lonely ache to long eating in his heart. “Who says that?”

“Poets, sweetheart,” Finn yawns. “Ella or Emma or something.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll find it for you sometime.” Then, in a very small voice, Finn asks, “So it was all right?”

Abruptly, Poe’s throat feels very tight. He kisses Finn’s temple, the only answer he can give at first. Then he threads their fingers together and sighs out soft, “Best I ever had.”


End file.
